


disarm me (with your loneliness)

by birdsandivory



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Childhood Friends, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pining, Pre-Canon, Tragedy of Duscur (Fire Emblem), dedue is soft as per usual, dimitri just wants to show dedue everything, my twist on fodlan flower lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22996291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsandivory/pseuds/birdsandivory
Summary: Dedue used to call him by a different name once.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	disarm me (with your loneliness)

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh, i'm so glad to have finally written something for my favorite fire emblem pairing! it's my birthday today, so treating myself is in order. i hope you all like a good origins fic, because i really want to piece together the missing puzzles of their past with something heart-wrenching and beautiful! much more dimidue to come <3
> 
> much love for my dear friend [maki](https://twitter.com/orgiastique) for beta reading for me ;___;

***

Dimitri is thirteen years old, the wounds of an orphan still fresh upon his heart. He is wary of everyone, familiar nursemaids and members of his father’s council suddenly strangers with the way they look upon him. It’s terrifying, how they stare and see not their kind king’s sweet son, but the next heir—the crown prince. Their narrowed eyes have grown calculating, expectant, and Dimitri has to try and walk with his shoulders square and chin held high despite how heavy the responsibility weighs upon his head. 

So much has changed. 

But, some changes aren’t so bad.

They brought him Dedue, after all. 

Soft, sweet, kind _Dedue._

Perhaps he’s more than Dimitri’s deserved over the years—or maybe what he deserves has changed as well after all he has lost—but he clings to Dedue with all of the might he has. From the moment the Kingdom soldiers brought him to the castle, Dimitri’s hand has been in his, casting aside all of his own mourning and loss in order to nurture Dedue’s. 

Dedue had been quiet in his grief, and Dimitri realized it was because he still acted so much like his normal self that most didn't believe he was grieving at all. But Dedue’s eyes spoke in crinkles and shining water lines that Dimitri could see clearly, if only because no one else dared to stand so close. The council had turned up their nose at him, the servants whispered rumors, and the civilians pointed fingers and hid their children away as though he were some sort of beast. 

No one’s behavior toward Dedue has improved since, but Dimitri has accepted, at least, the tolerance of him. It is without question that they must learn to rely on Dedue, as he has sworn himself to Dimitri, and as his friend and future king, he’s welcomed the Duscur boy into his life in the faces of all those who disapprove. 

They live happily together now, he thinks—as happy as they two can be—in the safe haven that is Fhirdiad. 

Just the notion makes him sigh into the book he’s supposed to be reading, legs swinging back and forth from his spot atop a desk chair. Usually, he is happy to study, but this week has been full of festivity, it seems. House Fraldarius, Galatea, and Gautier found reason to visit over the last few days, and Dimitri’s been pulled from his normal routine, unable to reel himself in from all the fun—though he’ll never complain about getting to see his closest friends. 

However, the more he sees of them, the less he sees of Dedue. And though he understands that they’ve all lost people in the Tragedy of Duscur, his heart still wrenches for the innocent, for Dedue; their kingdom is so full of prejudice. 

One day, he _will_ fix that.

But, despite simply missing him, Dimitri spends all of his time as of late thinking about Dedue and a recent discovery he’s made thanks to one of the castle’s oldest servants. The old man had prattled on about the courtyard and mystical flowers found only within the castle walls while making a tray of pastries in the kitchen, the young prince close by. Dimitri was both mystified and curious about them, and had taken initiative to see the groundskeeper, who had shown him with a smile on her face a stone pond with white buds floating atop. He’d thought it lackluster, at first, until she explained that the glow of Fhirdiad’s lunar lotus is only present at night and proceeded to tell him a long lost legend about a beautiful princess who’d found her way through a frightening forest thanks to such flowers lighting the way from the soft babbles of a cardinal river. 

Later on that night, before Rodrigue left with Felix in tow, even he had a tale to tell about soldiers in the dead of night, and great beasts weak to the beacon flowers’ light. 

Dimitri is fascinated by all of the stories told to him surrounding the lunar lotus, and yet, each time he hears another myth or legend, a deep ache in his chest accompanies his happiness. But he doesn’t think of a reason why, doesn’t remember how it was _Glenn_ that told him all sorts of history and fairy tale alike—

He simply can’t wait to show Dedue.

But wait he must, because nightfall is many hours away. 

So, he keeps to his studies, and then, to dance lessons and etiquette—and finally, dinner alone—until the evening sun dies in the sky and he is lying in bed, dressed in his gowns. 

And thinking about Dedue. 

He is Dimitri’s best friend...

His mind speaks the words suddenly, and he has the gall to be embarrassed by his own thoughts, turning in his sheets and counting the ticks until deep into the dark hour.

Once it’s late enough in the night, Dimitri carefully climbs out of his bed and heads straight for a nook at the far end of his room. There are guards posted at his door, so the most logical exit cannot be an option. Instead, he slides his hand along an intricately designed wall until it meets an indent he can just slide his fingers beneath, and Dimitri’s almost giddy when the entrance gives—revealing a hall small enough for him to rush through. He doesn’t think of it now, but he remembers vaguely its uncovery during a game of hide and seek with his friends—how useful it was, taking him to the midhall and escaping their eyes as Felix cried, thinking he was lost forever. 

Now it serves a different purpose. 

When Dimitri reaches the midhall, he braces himself against the castle wall and waits for two chatty guards to take their patrol out of sight before padding down the walkway to Dedue’s rooms—a line of candles lighting his path. There are no soldiers or knights guarding Dedue’s door, and he’s never asked why, but his blood boils at the thought of him not being important enough to protect. 

Later, he’ll realize that their reasons were even more shameful entirely. 

Dedue’s chambers are pitch-black and Dimitri is just a bit shaken, unable to understand how he can stand to sleep in the dark. It doesn’t stop Dimitri, however, not when he’s been waiting for the right opportunity to spend time with Dedue. Slowly, he takes a silent step forward, closing the door behind himself with care before scampering the rest of the way to Dedue’s bed. He takes a deep breath and smiles in triumph, having bested the dark. 

“Dedue?” Dimitri’s whisper is barely a whisper. “Dedue!”

“Dima?” He sounds perfectly awake, voice lacking any sign of slumber, and if Dimitri wasn’t so excited, part of him might’ve been concerned. 

“Dedue!” Smiling, he tries not to get caught up in the moment before Dedue even knows what it’s about, but he thinks that just a bit of his happiness has slipped through the cracks because Dedue smiles, too. “I must show you what I’ve found.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Come, let’s sneak out to the courtyards!” Dimitri demands, and his hand unabashedly finds a larger one, not quite as rough as his own yet—still the hands of someone who tends to gardens rather than wield axe or sword. “It’s out there.”

Dedue gives him a pointed look to which Dimitri frowns. “We’re not allowed out of our chambers at night.”

“I know, but... it _has_ to be now.”

“Dima...”

Dimitri always relishes in the nickname, always excites over the fact that Dedue calls him something special, but it’s also spoken in a stern tone and he tries not to seem _too_ disappointed. 

“Please, Dedue?” He takes a bulky arm in both of his hands. “Just this once and I’ll never ask for anything so outlandish ever again!”

Dedue looks a touch exasperated, but it doesn’t take long for him to move aside his blankets, climbing out of bed and towering over Dimitri, a long pause following as though there’s still time to deny the request by his better judgement and fall back into his pillows. “What do you want to show me?”

Dimitri shows him much—maybe things he knows, like how to sneak past castle guards and maids tidying up for the next day—and maybe things he doesn’t, like secret passages his late father told him to swear he’d never travel until he was shown the maze. But there’d never be time for that, so he learns such mazes as he goes, with Dedue following close behind him. 

They stumble into the courtyard, quiet laughter on Dimitri’s lips when Dedue’s tunic gets caught on a rose bush, the both of them in high spirits now that they’re waltzing through the fresh air. Dimitri is lost for a moment, unsure of which direction the pond is in and he’s disheartened for just a beat before he’s lured in by a soft, cool glow that beckons some yards away. 

“There!” He takes Dedue’s hand without waiting a second longer; Dedue keeps up easily with his long legs, perhaps even slowing down to keep in stride until Dimitri comes to an abrupt stop at the edge of a small pool. 

It's— _beautiful._

The world is bathed in royal light, and Dimitri dares to take another step closer, that light becoming clear outlines of large, brilliant petals, the sheer volume of them illuminating the night in a way that puts the moon’s shine to shame. 

His mouth has fallen open at the sight; he never imagined it would be so incredible, so much so that he’s nearly forgotten that this vision is not only for him. 

Dimitri looks at Dedue and softens. 

Never has he seen those eyes so wide. 

It is he who must act first then. 

“Look, Dedue!” Dimitri kneels down in front of the pond, barely able to contain his own amazement and wonder. Like the tales bespoke, the lotuses floating atop the water of the pond glow a beautiful, breathtaking hue. They gleam brightly, unimaginably so, and Dimitri can hardly believe they’re real. So many flowers, glowing like the legends, in Faerghus’ powerful, royal blue. 

And not just; there is but a single one of them floating along that is lit gold. It’s an anomaly among the rest, untouched as it meanders toward the center of the pond—ethereal, heavenly. 

Dedue is like that one. 

“Aren’t they amazing?” Dimitri whispers, looking over at Dedue when he gets no answer. 

He seems mystified, in awe—wearing an expression Dimitri’s never seen before. His eyes, like seafoam, are aglow in the light of the lotuses, and as he kneels before them, he looks afraid to reach out and touch the flowering blooms even if he wants to. Scared that, if he does, they’ll go away.

Dimitri knows that feeling well. 

“What are they?” Dedue finally asks, and he is happy to bestow his newfound wisdom. 

“They’re lunar lotuses—native only to Fhirdiad!” He slides into a more comfortable position, deciding to sit criss-crossed, pressed against Dedue. “Would you like to hear about the legends?”

A smile that rivals the floating flowers before them breaches the light. “Alright.”

Dimitri tells him all he knows—lost princesses and soldiers finding salvation along rivers and streams because of the lotuses strange luminescence, their glow like lighthouses. The more he speaks, the brighter Dedue’s smile becomes; Dimitri’s never been so proud of himself. And bravely, he suggests that they create a legend of their own, something that the Kingdom would pass down for years to come.

He thinks Dedue is about to indulge in his request, but he doesn’t get the chance to know for sure. 

A hand clamps itself over his mouth and Dimitri is alarmed by the taste of something sour, face covered up to his nose by a handkerchief. Dedue’s voice is far away, and Dimitri struggles to run toward it, but his legs kick nothing but air, body hefted up by a filthy arm around his waist. 

“Dima!”

Dimitri is sure all he is aware of are his own tears, but not so much from pain or circumstance. 

He’s never heard Dedue’s voice sound like that. 

When he comes to moments later, he’s behind Dedue, whose back is pressed protectively over him. Dimitri’s mind is fuzzy and his mouth feels dry, but the sight of red across Dedue’s now ripped, scrapped tunic keeps him vigilant. Dedue must have fought, he must have saved him; if only he could keep focused enough to ascertain that. From what he can see, however, the struggle is over. The heap of a man that Dimitri recognizes as the servant who’d been making pastries for him days before lies still on the ground, and Cornelia—the Kingdom’s high mage—stands over him with a mysterious wrath in her eyes. 

Dimitri thinks that such a glare should be meant for his almost napper, but it’s with a churning in his gut that he realizes that look is for Dedue.

It was Dedue and not he who had gotten into much trouble that night, and it’s painful now, days later, for Dimitri to recall. 

The idea was his and his alone and yet, everyone treats Dedue as if it’s _his_ fault—as if _he_ had been the one with his hand slapped to Dimitri’s mouth, trying to steal him away. As though he is some common criminal, deserving of nothing but their sneers. Dimitri hates it, reminds the council that it was his misdeed every time they tell him how relieved they are that he is alright. 

It’s never enough to convince them. 

And Dedue, as easily as he has always been there for Dimitri, avoids him instead. 

He catches him sometimes, wandering down the halls only to turn away and take another path as soon as he spots Dimitri, head hung in shame as he leaves the prince alone. They don’t seem to walk the same ways through the castle anymore, and he knows it’s because Dedue now chooses not to. 

Dimitri doesn’t know what to think about that. 

Dedue hasn’t spoken with him for days now, hasn’t once looked his way. And Dimitri has done his best to give him time, hoping he’ll come around soon, but something just doesn’t feel right about this—doesn’t feel like Dedue’s way of coping with things. 

One day in particular, he finds Dedue somewhere he’s never seen him before: the training grounds. There’s a fire in his eyes as he trains with one of Dimitri’s instructors, an axe in hand as he gets stricken down at every turn, never getting a hit in, but not once letting go of his weapon. 

Just the sight of Dedue getting thrown down every time he stands back up fills him with a dread he cannot bear. 

And he must’ve been so obviously staring, because Dedue’s green eyes meet his from across the grounds for the first time in a fortnight, their stare holding for moments longer than Dimitri thought it would. It aches when he finds that same kindness in them that he knows to be in Dedue, even if for just a second. 

For that very reason, it hurts doubly so when Dedue looks away. 

Dimitri knows then that Dedue has no cause of his own for avoiding him at all costs.

He would never ignore him—not ever—not even if Dimitri had done the most disgusting, deplorable thing in the world. There had to be another reason for this, an explanation—for it cannot be him.

It had to be them. 

Had to be _her._

 _“Poor little prince,”_ Cornelia had said with that blatant insincerity that always lingers beneath her words as she pressed her fingers to his temples and brushed away the clouds in his mind with her magic. _“You must’ve been so afraid.”_

And then she took Dedue away.

Dimitri doesn’t want to admit it to himself, doesn’t want to believe that the people who have advised his father for all of his life could possibly be anything but good and just. But... they’ve _done_ something to Dedue. Something that’s bought his silence, that’s affected him so greatly that he keeps Dimitri at arm’s length. 

Just thinking that they might have _harmed_ Dedue enrages him. 

It’s why it is up to him to make things right again. 

Hours later into the night, he’s determined as he mirrors his past self, dressed in his gowns for bed as the castle goes still. 

Dimitri sneaks past the guards again, tiptoes his way to the north end of his wing where Dedue sleeps, and silently makes his way inside. Carefully, he crawls into Dedue’s bed, alarmed when the body lying before him suddenly goes rigid. 

Something inside of Dimitri breaks. 

Dedue has to know it is him and no one else, even while he’s turned away; the reaction makes him feel cold.

Almost like a stranger.

Dimitri’s bottom lip quivers, but he holds back, tentatively lying down behind Dedue and reaching out until his small hand is pressed into the line of Dedue’s spine. 

“Dedue?” He breathes lightly, as though he’s afraid of what would happen if he spoke too loud. Dimitri gets nothing in response except for the feeling of Dedue sighing deeply, and he feels more like a burden than a friend because of it. 

But—Dimitri can’t stand the silence, is too noble to let things lie the way they are without trying to come to a resolution; his father taught him such things were sacred, mending bridges instead of allowing them to burn. And he doesn’t want for much—not too much, at least—and he’d give it all away now if Dedue would just _speak_ to him. 

Whatever Dimitri thinks would be wise to say ends up turning into desperation, his body pressing against Dedue’s back, arms wrapping around him painfully tight. He didn’t know it was possible for Dedue to become even more like stone than before, but he finds in that moment that his prior assumptions are untrue—it hurts his heart. 

Because now they’re as close as they’ll ever be, and Dedue still feels so far away. 

“It’s all my fault.” Dimitri presses his face between Dedue’s shoulder blades, voice muffled as he whispers, thickly laced with his torment. “I’m sorry, Dedue.”

Dedue’s shoulders relax, but Dimitri still doesn’t feel relieved.

They’ve grown apart, he realizes, in so little time. 

“It’s alright... Your Highness.”

And Dimitri never thought it would be so.

Dedue is always serious, that much is true, Dimitri’s never known Dedue to take anything lightly—but distant... well, that was something that’s never seemed possible before. Dedue had latched onto Dimitri tightly since the moment he’d saved him, hand grasping at a dirty tunic, a crazed gaze looking between blood-stained soldiers and wide, seafoam eyes that begged for salvation as he pleaded for Dedue’s life. It was fate, Dimitri had decided. 

They were, henceforth, inseparable. 

Until that night.

Dimitri looks away from where Dedue’s standing across the courtyard of the Officers Academy, the memory somehow making it too painful to look at his vassal— _no,_ he sternly corrects himself, his friend—without overwhelming sadness looming over him. But these things happen at times around Dedue; he remembers the years past fondly, back when they were at each other’s side because they wanted to be, duty be damned. And then, he remembers that night.

Dimitri doesn’t know what the council had said to him, but Dedue’s kept himself at a distance ever since. 

And yet...

He steps forward, not once taking into account that he’s just walked away from his professor in the middle of their conversation about something or other, not that he can, for the life of him, remember what. 

All he can do is cut a path toward the only destination his heart chooses to lead him to. 

And think about Dedue. 

Because so much has changed.

But, at least his eyes haven’t.

They still look to Dimitri with such kindness.

He only wishes that his own kindness could undo what has been done.

“Dedue.”

Dimitri regrets that night with all of his heart.

Nothing hurts more than what they did to Dedue that day, what they did to _his_ Dedue... and nothing hurts more than still being in the dark, still not understanding a thing, and not knowing why his dearest friend refuses to call him anything but—

“Your Highness.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Disarm me (with your loneliness) just like always before. 
> 
> Deceive me out of my emptiness, telling me how you love me with all your heart." 
> 
> —Disarm Me (With Your Loneliness), HIM
> 
>   
> [twitter.](https://twitter.com/birdsandivory)


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